Page 83 of Full House

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Her arm flew out, her hand landing on the dash to brace against the sudden impact before she was whipped back against her seat.

“What the fuck!” she heard Nate shout, and her eyes flew to him. He appeared okay with his hands gripping the steering wheel, and his sight trained on the rearview mirror.

His eyes moved to her, seeming to travel over her all at once. Her face. Her lap. Her hands that clutched at the seat belt that crossed her chest. Even her legs. “Are you okay?”

She could only manage a nod. They hadn’t been hit hard. Just enough to jolt her around a bit, but she was still shaken.

The sound of squealing tires drew their attention, and Victoria watched the car that had hit them drive off.

“Fuck!” Nate shouted again, whipping the car into reverse before throwing it back into first and jumping into the next lane to take chase, barely missing the bumper of the car in front of them.

“What are you doing?” Victoria shouted over the roar of the engine as she grabbed the dash with one hand and the center console with the other. “It’s not worth chasing after them. Let the insurance handle it.” She knew he loved his car but speeding through Beverly Hills after a hit-and-run and possibly getting into another accident was ridiculous.

“There’s a pen in the glove box. Get ready to jot the license number down.”

She found the pen easily, but even after a thorough search, couldn’t find anything to write on. Not even an old receipt.

“We’re almost close enough,” Nate warned.

She saw his foot press down on the accelerator and frantically looked for a scrap of paper. Even the compartment in the center console was clean.

“Two X B J,” he started, and for lack of anything else, she pushed up the hem of her dress and started writing on her thigh. “Two, three, five.”

After reciting the plate numbers, Nate slowed and pulled into the next parking lot, bringing the car to a stop in a vacant corner.

“Why did you do that? Was it really worth risking our lives for a stupid accident?” She unlatched her seat belt, throwing it off herself in a rare fit of anger.

She looked over at Nate. He stared out the windshield, jaw tense with his hands still clutching the steering wheel.

After long seconds, as if getting himself under control, he turned to her. He grabbed her hand doing another thorough sweep of her from head-to-toe. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Her anger dissipated a fraction at his show of concern.

She repeated her question. “Why would you do all that,” she waved her hand at the windshield, “for a simple fender bender?”

“What if it wasn’t a simple accident? What if it was planned?”

“That’s crazy.”

“Is it? Like Smith said, there’s no such thing as coincidences.”

“This is LA. There’re hundreds of car accidents a day. Besides, the police have Chrissy in custody.”

“Maybe they have the wrong person, or maybe she’s been released. I wasn’t taking the chance of maybe letting the person who’s trying to hurt you get away.”

That shut her up. She didn’t have an argument for Nate’s logic.

He got out of the car, pulled his cell out, and stepped out of sight. After a few seconds, she opened her door and followed.

Nate paced behind the rear of the car, talking on the phone, and from his side of the conversation, it sounded as if he was talking to Smith. She looked down at the car and grimaced at the sight of the smashed bumper.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Nate stepped over to her, wrapping her in his arms. “He’s on his way. Are you sure you’re okay?”

She held on to him tight, pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m fine.”

“The baby okay? Do you think we need to go to the hospital?”

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